


uhtceare

by gh0st1nn1t



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bad Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Bad Parenting, Child Neglect, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Kid TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Kid Wilbur Soot, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Phil Watson Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Platonic Relationships, Protective TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Wilbur Soot, Sibling Love, Technoblade Has ADHD (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Has ADHD (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit is Not Okay (Video Blogging RPF), Twins Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade are Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29046858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gh0st1nn1t/pseuds/gh0st1nn1t
Summary: uhtceare -  the anxiety pooling in your stomach before dawn, leaving you unable to sleep in dread of the days to come. the pit that swallows your heart whole when the sun peaks from the horizon. the anxiety flooding your body when you get torn from the comfort of your bed and into the day.wilbur knew one of these days he was going to snap.but he would push that away as much as he could.for now, he had to focus on raising tommy alone.that couldn't be too hard...right?
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, platonic - Relationship
Comments: 21
Kudos: 447





	uhtceare

**Author's Note:**

> there are a few triggering subjects in this, not many, but there is a descriptive list below, just in case <3
> 
> tw//cw//  
> -neglect  
> [-forgetting food  
> -leaving for months  
> -ignoring medical issues]  
> -anxiety [hinted at]  
> -adhd [stimming, overstimulated breakdowns, etc]  
> -mention of being mostly mute  
> -mention of hitting walls  
> -accidental violence  
> -accepting of death (?) [no one actually dies, it’s one scene]  
> -punching yourself (?) [it’s due to overstimulation, not anything s/h related]  
> -masking  
> -mention of abandonment [only mentioned]  
> -not eating [not due to e/d’s, due to lack of food/money]  
> -stealing food

wilbur knew one of these days he was going to snap.

the first time he’d gotten genuine anger flooding his body was age six, when he had been playing with his baby brother, teaching him how to aim a mini bow and arrow, shooting little rubber sticks at the trees in the garden when his dad walked in, announcing he would be gone for a week with his twin, apparently going to stock up on some extra resources from the village nearby.

as a fairly quiet kid, wilbur hadn’t dared question why he was leaving for a week if the village was so close, or why he thought a child was capable of caring for a two year old for a week, especially since wilbur had never had to care for tommy alone before. the only times he'd been left alone with the kid was when techno was there too.

but he kept his mouth shut when he saw technos beaming smile, swamped in oversized armor as his dad led him out of the house. 

it had been the first time wilbur was left completely alone for over three hours, and this time, it wasn’t just him, but tommy too, and tommy didn’t like it one bit more than he did.

the kid still hadn’t said his first words, but phil hadn’t seemed to pick up on the fact that his youngest was months behind on development, and he didn’t seem to care either, despite how much it infuriated wilbur. even techno had brought it up casually, offhandedly mentioning how quiet the toddler was, but phil had shrugged and said it was probably just him trying to learn a big word so he could impress everyone with his first word.

no one bothered to point out how stupid that was.

the kid couldn’t even dress himself, which made itself clear that morning when wilbur had gone to carry tommy downstairs and found the toddler throwing a tantrum and fiddling with the hem of his shirt. 

out of spite, wilbur spent the entire week teaching tommy things that phil hadn’t bothered to, like how to slip his t-shirt over his head, and how to use a comb to brush back the shaggy blonde locks that had begun to get into the toddlers eyes, and how to actually climb into his chair himself. somehow, he’d also learned how to get the kid to sit still at mealtimes and eat his food for once.

when their dad had returned, wilbur thought he would praise him, pick him up and twirl him around in the air like he did with techno when he was proud. instead, he had gently pushed wilbur aside and set off to bed, claiming he was tired.

next morning, he had given wilbur the tightest hug possible, smiling down at his son and promising him he could come along next time. he apologized profusely for being gone for as long as he had, and he pinky promised that he would take wilbur out to plant some flowers in the garden as an apology. wilbur had grinned back, thanking his dad and proudly showing off how tommy had learned how to use a comb, despite him sticking it in technos hair and knotting it, he managed to brush out a few strands.

wilbur decided to push down the feeling of hurt that swamped him when dad laughed and said “you seem to be tommy’s favorite” to techno.

phil stuck to his promise, and the two sat in the garden, caked in mud, dirt splattered over their colourful aprons and laughing as they broke yet another mini shovel, ending up having to dig with their hands. they planted a long line of orange lilies and petunias. the two went out every morning with mini plastic watering cans, making sure they were watered. the flowers thrived, and wilbur had already forgiven phil for the temporary leave.

then, merely two months later, he had left again, once again bringing techno. this time, they were ‘exploring the ice biome they had found not too far away’, but it still took them just over two weeks to return.

wilbur had cried when phil told him they were going.

the flowers, he claimed was the cause. he said he didn't know how to take care of them. phil had frowned, ruffled his hair, and promised that they'd be fine under his care as long as he remembered to water them. then wilbur brought up his promise, the one that told the kid he would be allowed to tag along next time. phils face had fallen, and he quickly left.

by their return, wilbur had taught tommy his first word. he had tried to get tommy to say “dada” in an attempt to impress their dad, but tommy had huffed, clapping his hands once again. he sighed, dropping his head in his hands and standing up, preparing to go and make something in the microwave for the toddler to spit out, throw everywhere and force him to clean.

but the moment he turned around, he felt a tug on his jogging bottoms, and he glanced down to see tommy wobbling on his feet, grinning, showing off his gappy teeth, something he had done every time he stood.

“w’lby!” he had babbled.

wilbur then decided he was never going to be like dad.

he dropped to his knees in front of the kid with a proud expression and wrapped him in a careful hug, feeling the toddlers small fists grab onto the back of his fuzzy jumper, “that’s it! you got it, toms! you’re right, im wilbur! good job! you got it, bubs!” he pulled back and beamed, seeing the toddler fall into a sitting position yet still begin to clap his hands and giggle at the praise. 

still, tommy shook his head, “no, y’ur w’lby!” he insisted with a bright smile, waving his hands around excitedly, bouncing slightly as he sat. he stuck his hands out, clenching and unclenching his fists in a show of affection that clearly meant ‘pick me up’.

wilbur did not object. he carefully balanced the two year old on his hip as he walked over to the kitchen, “yeah, sure, i’m wilby, there you go, bubs, you got it,” he smiled softly down at his younger brother, placing him onto the counter (phil wasn’t here to complain, he reasoned) and pulling out a bowl for some cereal for the kid.

and when dad had walked in a few days earlier than normal, and heard tommy babbling about ‘wilby’ he hadn’t mentioned a thing, not even anything about his first words, let alone the fact that he was talking about his brother instead of his dad like most toddlers did. the wilted flowers in the garden had also gone ignored. 

techno, however, had smiled down at his little brother, moving to sit down so he was matching the two year olds height, “yeah, tommy, that’s wilby, see? he’s right there,” he pointed exaggeratedly at wilbur, reminding himself to hug his brother later for finally getting tommy to speak. 

and unlike phil, he remembered his promises, and had crept over from his room into wilbur and tommys shared room to hug his twin, leaving the unsaid but understood words to hang in the air.

it wasn't uncommon for the twins to rarely talk. techno was mostly mute anyway, only talking when he was extremely emotional, and wilbur was quiet, so they rarely spoke. still, they considered themselves just as close as any other set of twins, constantly laughing and hugging and playing together.

wilbur eventually learned to cope, and by age seven, he knew how to cook full meals, how to cope with tommys meltdowns and how to entertain his brother. the two week trips had eventually lengthened into three weeks, but he didn’t care, not at all, (that’s what he told himself at least). he knew how to take care of a child, and how to practically raise them.

he had noticed all the little things about his brother too, like how he would sit in the garden and stare at the stumps of the flowers that their dad and wilbur had planted (wilted flowers which phil had removed in order to build a shed and then never built it), like how he would always walk with his right foot first, like how whenever he was tired, he would stumble over to wilbur and curl against his side, even if they were in different rooms. 

but by nine, the trips were almost two months long, and he was sick and tired of techno always being allowed to come along, techno who would return with a grin and sit with tommy for hours, telling him about his adventures with a smile, techno who would always refuse to duel with wilbur because he deemed his brother not good enough, techno who was given his own room, techno who got everything they didn’t. 

a childhood.

but wilbur had to cope somehow. 

he yelled at phil once.

once.

screamed at him for leaving him at home to fend for himself, screamed at him for not even leaving medicine for tommy, who got sick constantly, screamed at him for stealing his childhood.

phil had stared him down with a hardened expression, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed and tilted downwards at the edges. he sent wilbur to his room, called him ungrateful and grounded him. he didn’t speak to wilbur for days after that.

wilbur yelled at phil once. 

never again.

and, being a stupid child who lashed out, he demanded techno sparred with him, desperate to fight something that wasn’t his wall. 

techno hadn’t denied it for once, and the two snuck into the garden late at night with iron swords stolen from phils chest (since when did he go from dad to phil?). he had made wilbur promise to stop when he got tired, and he made his brother promise not to tell phil.

it didn’t end well.

nothing did.

wilbur laid in the grass, bleeding from an array of wounds. he could feel his consciousness drifting away, leaving him with nothing more than echoing, fuzzy thoughts and a faint feeling in his chest screaming that he was dying. he was dizzy, he knew that, he also knew he had been stood until moments before, when he had collapsed backwards, hands twitching at his sides, smiling gently up at the sky and letting his eyes flutter shut.

he accepted death.

most eleven year olds would have started screaming from the pain, or begging and praying for whatever god was up there for them to live, sobbing that they were too young to die.

not wilbur though, he shut his eyes and waited.

but it never came.

techno stumbled backwards, pressing his back against a tree and hyperventilating. he kept muttering under his breath, fists clenched, punching himself in the head and curling in on himself as far away from wilbur as he could get. 

phil had come rushing out moments later, and completely disregarded wilbur, running to techno and helping the boy breathe.

that wasn’t what had infuriated wilbur though. as much as he hated it, he understood his brothers anger could take control and he would literally black out, unable to control whatever he was doing, and he could be scarily dangerous in those moments, so it was important to calm him down before any more damage was done, but that wasn’t it.

phil had walked past him while guiding techno inside, techno who had phils green cape draped around his shoulders, techno who was being led by a gentle hand, techno who was completely calm. phil had looked down at him with pity, “get up, wilbur, it’s past your bed time, and you’re grounded,” he had said, before turning his back and walking inside, sitting techno down and bringing out hot chocolate that wilbur didn’t even know they had. 

he laid there for an hour more, and no one bothered to come check on him. he could feel his blood draining, and with one quick glance at his hands, he could see he was almost pure white. he felt sick, but he pushed it down, promising himself it’d be done soon and shutting his eyes. tears slipped down his cheeks, but he was only vaguely aware of their wet tracks as they smeared the dirt and blood on his face.

then he heard tommys lullaby-singing nightlight playing from the slight crack in the window of their room, and he realised he did have something to continue for.

his brother.

wilbur had limped inside, taking out the medicine kit from the bathroom cabinet and spent his entire morning sat on the bathroom tiles, patching up wounds that he had no business knowing how to heal at eleven. 

when tommy had prodded the bandaid on his cheek, he had to explain to the seven year old that techno had simply lost control, careful not to make their brother seem like a villain or someone to be afraid of. it seemed to work, as tommy had waddled over to techno and hugged him tightly, quietly muttering that he didn’t blame techno for anything he did. and if there were tears burning technos eyes as he hugged his brother back, no one mentioned it. 

a mere week later, only a few days since phil had stopped ignoring wilbur, when tommy had started screaming and wailing, clenching his fists, waving them around and punching his head violently phil had ran in, finally present for one of his sons meltdowns. he awkwardly rubbed his sons back in a weak attempt at affection, not even making a move to stop his sons incessant punching.

wilbur, who had been downstairs, had pushed him aside, ignoring the look of shock on phil face at the worryingly strong impact. 

“toms, you wanna go see the bees?” wilbur offered, arms open to the kid, who gladly crawled into his hold, sniffling and grasping the front of wilburs shirt with his fists, something wilbur had taught him to do instead of punching himself. “c’mon, i gotcha, bubs, i gotcha,” he muttered reassuringly as the two walked out of the room, sending a glare to phil who had been completely useless, watching in awe instead of helping. wilbur reached the backdoor and opened it, stepping through and sitting by the cluster of trees at the end of their garden, ones that phil had talked about chopping down. 

he sat in front of them on the concrete, tommy laying cradled against his front, the back of his head leaning against his brothers chest, staring up at the bees that flew around the leaves of the trees.

“it’s late, you two shouldn’t be out here,” phil had interrupted, but fell silent with a glare from wilbur. he sighed and retreated inside, which stung so much more than it should have. wilbur knew damn well that sitting in the garden at night was dangerous, and that if it was techno sat there, phil would’ve spent hours convincing him to go inside or even sat with him, but instead he’d given up with a single, weak glare from an eleven year old? 

tommy didn’t seem to catch on to wilbur’s sadness, instead, turning around every few seconds to excitedly point out a bee he saw, making sure his brother was paying attention.

and he was, he always was. every single time, wilbur had grinned and immediately looked towards the bee, “yeah, i see it, bubs, what about that one there? that’s a huge bee!” he would always exaggerate his words, something that always made tommy giggle and clap his hands, something deemed ‘immature’ for the seven year old to do, but he trusted wilbur enough to act like himself, something phil scolded him on a lot.

wilbur had made a vow not to ever be like phil, and he knew he’d rather die than break that promise. 

the next month, phil announced that he and techno were to go on a three month trip, to try and find somewhere to move to. 

wilbur finally brought up the fact that they were going to miss his birthday, something he’d been too afraid to mention ever since he first stood up to phil, “it’s may, you’ll miss my birthday!” he had complained, knowing they’d be gone for the whole of june, there was no way they would return on the first just to celebrate his birthday.

“it’s techno’s birthday too,” phil had retaliated, despite how uncomfortable techno looked to be involved.

“dad, can’t we wait just a week so me and wilbur can celebrate our birthday together?” techno had looked over at wilbur, noticing the unshed tears in his brothers eyes and he spoke up. he asked quietly, and, with a sigh, had gotten a nod and a clearly fake smile. 

“fine, but we’re leaving that night, so you boys have the morning to celebrate. this trip is urgent.”

that night, once wilbur made sure tommy was sleeping, he crept into technos room and sat on the edge of his bed, asking softly why techno would ask to move the date if he was always so eager to go on the trips.

“you’re my brother, wil, i want us to spend our birthday together at least if im going to have to be gone for three months,” techno had admitted quietly, braiding his hair slowly as he spoke. “i don’t even like the trips that much. sure, they’re fun, and i love the adventure, but the travelling gets so boring,” he confessed.

“then why do you go?”

there was a hint of anger in his tone, no matter how much he tried to conceal it. wilbur was clearly pissed that his brother had left him to raise tommy alone to go on a trip he hated. techno sighed lightly, picking up on his twins fury,

“we both know dad would leave any chance he got. im making sure he doesn’t go,” he whispered, voice breaking, hands stilling in their place in his long pink silky hair. “i know you don’t like dad, but i do, i need to make sure he doesn’t leave us.”

wilbur was silent, and he couldn’t help but wonder how bad it would be if phil actually did leave. then he started overanalysing the words, and a stabbing pain hit his heart as he realised that techno was indirectly blaming him for their dads possible leave. he brushed that thought away and engulfed his brother in a hug.

neither of them mentioned it the next morning.

their birthday was tense, as phil kept reminding techno of the time, giving him constant nudging about their time limit. 

they tried to ignore it, spending their time messing around and chasing each other through the house, sparring (with wooden swords and supervision, not wanting a repeat of last time) and baking a cake together. 

turns out, there was no flour in the cupboards, and phil had butted in the moment he heard.

“we can get some on our way back. you two can make the cake when we return, we really have to go,” he glanced at techno, then at the clock, then at techno again. 

techno had frowned, “dad, it’s our birthday, i can walk to the village and go and buy some. we don’t want to wait three months for our birthday cake when our birthday is today,” he reasoned, reaching out to grab his brothers hand nervously.

wilbur grabbed it with fear, grasping tightly to his brother.

phil sighed, an apologetic expression on his face, “we really have to go, techno, and cakes take hours to make, let alone adding the time to eat it and the time to walk to the village and get the flour,” he rebutted. “i’m sorry.”

techno had bitten his lip, seeing that his dad was clearly not budging, “fine, just...let me say goodbye first,” he requested. phil nodded, waiting by the front door for his son. techno turned to wilbur, lip wobbling, “i’m sorry-”

he was cut off by being tackled into a tight hug, feeling wilbur press his face into his shoulder, “i know. don’t apologise, i’ll see you in three months, then we can celebrate then, okay?” he spoke quietly, voice barely audible even to techno, whos head was resting atop wilburs.

“yeah, yeah, okay,” he agreed, pulling back and scrubbing at his eyes, “i’m going to go say goodbye to tommy, come with?” 

tommy didn’t like it anymore than the twins, clearly, as he pouted and crossed his arms, “phil is a bitch,” he muttered, the words sounding strange in his eight year old voice, seeing wilbur break out into laughter and techno stare at him, mouth agape.

“did you teach him that?” he asked, glancing at wilbur, who was hunched over, wheezing and nodding. techno bit back a grin, “just...don’t let dad hear,” he shot a smirk to tommy before hearing phil call for him downstairs, “gotta go.” 

for once, phil had called wilbur too.

he was afraid, but reluctantly followed techno, looking up at their dad.

phil hugged him. 

he had knelt down in front of his son, wrapped his arms gently around him and rested his head atop wilburs hair, “i’m sorry, son, we’ll be back as soon as possible. i love you,” he pulled back, smiling down at the kid. 

wilbur was desperate. affection was rare.

he smiled back.

“there’s a gift hidden in the cupboards for you to open on your birthday, im sorry ill have to miss it, but once we find a place we can stay for real, we can have a big celebration every birthday. promise,” phil had smiled so softly that wilbur couldn’t stay angry, “i love you, son, im sorry.”

turns out, three months meant five months in the eyes of phil. 

food had began running low, and wilbur was out of money. tommy was constantly complaining about how hungry he was, and wilbur felt like guilt was killing him. he never wanted the kid to go hungry, but there was nothing he could do. so he did the only thing he could think of.

steal.

he didn’t get caught, or, at least, the one person who saw him sprinting away with the bread had frowned and assumed he needed it more than they did. wilbur was careful, only stealing what was completely necessary, and only stealing enough for tommy.

he was stuck with scraps, and there usually wasn’t any. his stomach had rumbled at first, an embarrassingly loud groan that always attracted tommys attention, but he grew used to it, and eventually, running on empty stayed silent.

tommy was too young to understand, only recently turned eight, too young to understand why wilbur had pulled out a badly wrapped box from the cupboards, opened it and immediately smashed it against the wall, too young to understand why the food in their cupboards always restocked despite the two emeralds on the counter never moving. 

wilbur hated it.

he felt sick every time he had to smile at one of the shop clerks and slip whatever he could behind his back. 

one time, he had gone to a sweet shop, one that had been propped up on flimy plastic sheets over tables in a town square. the woman behind the counter was sweet, barely 16 and clearly thrilled to run her own business. she had long white curls, and small sheep horns poking through them, the soft, light colours matching her pastel uniform. wilbur had engaged in conversation while he slipped a small cupcake box into his bag, one that definitely smushed against the fabric, but it was better than nothing. the woman had clearly noticed, her eyes flickering down to the bag.

wilbur had flinched when he realised, expecting her to drag him back home and demand that phil reprimand him. 

instead, she smiled softly, gesturing to the small chair beside the tables. she asked why he felt the need to steal, and her tone was so gentle he couldn’t lie.

“it’s- it’s for my little brother, tommy, he- he turned eight a few months ago, he had a break-breakdown and i couldn’t cheer him up so i wanted to come and get him something to surprise him when he wakes up but i know i should’ve paid instead of taking it, but we only have two emeralds and that can’t buy anything but i’m so sorry, i’ll return it, and-”

she had smiled, shushing him and knotting her eyebrows in concern, “shouldn’t your parents be doing this?”

“it’s- it’s just me and him for now, ma’am, my dad and my brother are...out,” he chose his words carefully, fidgeting with his sleeves as he spoke, no longer terrified of the woman.

there was a soft sigh before she began talking, “listen, kid, if you ever need anything, come here, okay? my name’s puffy, alright? what’s your name?” 

“uh, wil-wilbur,” he stumbled over his words, still on edge about trusting her. 

“wilbur, calm down, you’re not in any trouble at all,” she reassured, tilting her head and smiling, clearly able to tell that he was panicking, “what’s your favourite flavour of cake?”  
he was quiet for a moment, wondering back to many years ago when he’d last gotten the treat, “uh, strawberry, i think,” he muttered.

there was a small tug at his bag, and he looked down to see her gently placing a strawberry cupcake beside the chocolate one, “there you go, kid. free, i promise,” she added, seeing his wide eyes, “listen, no kid should have to steal for food. and that’s not a thing that makes you bad,” she continued, seeing him glance down in shame, “if you need food, you need food. it can’t be helped. now, wilbur, if you ever need anything, running low on food, just want to talk, anything, my shops’ always open. and hey, maybe i can slip you another extra cupcake,” she joked, nudging his shoulder and laughing softly. 

he glanced up, meeting her eyes and smiling faintly, realising she was being truthful. just as he was about to speak, protest, thank her for everything, she raised a hand, silencing him, “don’t thank me, kid, it’s just what everyone should do. now, go look after your brother, and come back whenever you want.”  
wilbur had returned home to see tommy still sleeping on the sofa, curled up in one of wilburs old shirts. soft red bruises covered his jawline and dotted around his temples, ones from his panic where he had repeatedly hit himself. there was soft green tints atop the bruises, the hue coming from the repairing ointment wilbur had put over them to stop the pain. he took a seat next to his brother, pulling out the two cakes and resting them on the table before shaking his brothers shoulder gently.

“toms? c’mon, bubs, if you sleep any longer, you won’t be able to sleep at night,” he spoke softly, still smiling from earlier. tommy had rubbed his eyes and leaned into wilburs side.

“t’red,” he muttered, voice quiet and shaky, pressing his face into the soft grey fabric of his brothers shirt.

wilbur chuckled quietly, “i know, i know, but hey, i got you something,” he seemed to perk up at that, and he laughed, “i knew that’d get your attention. here, chocolate, like you said,” he placed the small box in his brother’s hand.

the two hadn’t eaten all day, it was a sunday, so most of the village was shut, and the cupboards were empty. tommy had been complaining about his migraine due to hunger, which was a major factor into his breakdown. he had opted to sleep for most of the day in an attempt to calm it.

tommy’s eyes lit up as they fell onto the carefully crafted cake. it was wonky, sure, and a little dented on the side, but it was a gift, and from wilbur nonetheless.

he beamed, turning to his brother and leaning further against his side in a silent sign of affection and thanks, taking a bite. the two rested on the sofa in silence, eating the cakes they had been given.

wilbur did return to puffy, bringing tommy along the third time, and eventually, she ended up crafting them basketfuls of food, not just sweets but healthy food too, vegetables she had grown, bread she had made, and even pre-prepared meals. she was the sole reason the two hadn’t starved.

the time tommy had gone, the knitted pillows had caused him to flap his hands and fidget in discomfort. next time, the pillow on his chair was replaced with a fluffy white one, and puffy pretended not to notice how the boy grinned and sank further into the chair.

one time when wilbur had gotten caught stealing, he had been grabbed harshly and thrown to the ground, getting screamed at in the middle fo the street. he was shaking, and no matter what he did, the person in front of him couldn’t stop resembling phil. phil never yelled like that though and he never hurt wilbur psychically, and that was the only thing keeping him from genuinely thinking the man before him was his dad.

puffy had stepped in, pushing the man back, shoving a small sachet of emeralds into his chest and demanding he leave with a sharp glare. he quickly scampered off. she helped wilbur up, and the boy was too disorientated to stand alone, that was for sure. she led him back home, stopping at the door, promising she wasn’t mad, nodding to wilbur before turning and leaving, promising wilbur that if he ever needed her help again, he was more than welcome to ask.

eventually, after 5 months and three weeks of phil being gone, and 4 months exactly since meeting puffy, the two were like siblings, and a few people around the village genuinely believed they were, that puffy was his recently adopted older sister, only four years older.

when phil returned, the first thing he did was apologise for being gone so long, and wilbur was too exhausted to care, simply melting in the hug his dad gave him and nodding. he could tell his son was exhausted, sending him straight to bed before techno even got the chance to walk through the door.

wilbur woke up to the feeling of being bumped around. the moment he opened his eyes, he was greeted by the inside of phils car.

“morning, sleepyhead,” techno remarked from the front seat, bags piled across his lap.

wilbur rubbed his eyes, “why are we in the car?”

there was a moments pause, and he heard an annoyed sigh from beside him, turning to see tommy pouting and fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “we’re moving, phil found a spot and we’re leaving right now.”

he shot up, immediately jerking his head to look out the window, seeing that they were no longer surrounded by spruce trees like their village were, now seeing dark oaks zoom past the windows. “you- what? what the fuck? didn’t you only get back yesterday?”

phils eyebrows furrowed, “wilbur, if you want me to tell them exactly why we have to leave so soon, i will.”

“...what?” wilbur gulped, if he had been found out, he was screwed. but he didn’t know who would’ve told phil,puffy wouldn’t, she hated the man, but the shopkeeper he had stolen from would.

“dad, what?” technos face fell into concern, turning to face his brother in the backseat, “wil, what is he talking about? wil? wilbur?”

phil kept his face blank, but his knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. “do you want to tell them, or should i?” wilbur bit his tongue, staying silent. he wasn’t about to spill his secrets and incriminate himself for something he wasn’t even sure phil knew.

“fine, i’ll do it. wilbur here has gotten himself a little hobby. stealing. he’s a thief.”

he gulped, turning to stare out the window in silence. he could feel technos stare burn into him, and he felt tommy tug his shirt to get him to look over.

“wil…?” technos voice sounded scared, “why- why were you stealing? what were you stealing?” 

there was no response, and wilbur felt his hands begin to tremble, the tense atmosphere felt suffocating. tears burned his eyes, threatening to spill across his cheeks. his face was tinted red in humiliation, and he sank further into his sweater, wishing big sister puffy was there to defend him again. 

he leaned his head against the window, the cold glass soothing his flushed face, “‘m goin to sleep again,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

phil scoffed under his breath, “let him sulk,” he tilted his head, words aimed at tommy, who was attempting to crawl over to his brothers side. “the man who runs the grocers nearest to our old house caught him, said he tried to take money from someone in the shop.”

wilbur bit his tongue, forcing himself to stay silent and not correct phil

tommy suddenly stilled, and something in his child brain clicked. the grocers was where wilbur always claimed to go to stock up on more food, often for tommy himself. he suddenly remembered puffys frequent visits where the cupboards would magically restock during, and how she always left them gift baskets of food.

he glanced over to his brother, seeing small tears drip from his squeezed-shut eyes, and he was smacked in the face with the realisation that wilbur had been stealing for _him_.

adjusting to living in a whole new house was rough, especially since it was clear techno and phil had been living there for what looked like a month already. wilbur had barricaded himself in his room, only letting tommy in and occasionally techno.

phil ended up slipping in when wilbur was asleep, sitting at the end of the bed and waking the boy up, claiming they needed to have a talk. wilbur had sat up groggily and curled in on himself, avoiding making eye contact.

“wil, why did you start stealing?” he asked softly, seeing his son sniffle and wipe the sleep out of his eyes.

“we...we were out of food, and i-i had a friend, puffy, who would give us food whenever we ran out, but-but her shop was closed and i had to steal something because me and tommy hadn’t eaten in three days and we were just so hungry and-” he paused, widening his eyes and speeding up his words, “not that tommy knew, he didnt know where the food came from, he thought puffy got it all, none of this is his fault-”

“i know, wil,” phil breathed, words hushed. he was silent, breathing shakily and staring at the ground. he finally looked up as he shifted to hug his son tightly, “i’m so sorry, mate, i didnt even think about food running out, im sorry, im not mad at you. in fact, im glad you took initiative and took what you needed.”

the dams broke, and all hate had melted away as wilbur sank into the hug, knotting his hands in the back of phils shirt. there was a wet spot on phils shoulder when he pulled away, caused by wilburs tears. he felt like a real kid for once as he sobbed his heart out in his dads arms. 

phil had promised the trips would stop, and they did, the only explanation he gave to techno being that they were needed more at home. no one bothered to question it, just happy that they could finally spend time together like a family.

techno and tommy seemed to finally start bonding, often spending time in the large training room, where techno would carefully guide tommys hands and teach him the proper way to swing a sword. 

it was strange, seeing tommy actually interact with phil, carried across the house sat on phils shoulders, waving a bulky wooden sword at his dad, sat on the counter giggling as he helped splatter pancake liquid across the walls.

wilbur was bitter.

he knew he shouldnt be, and he knew damn well he would still die for tommy in a heartbeat, but seeing him enjoying the childhood wilbur never got always sent a pang of pain into his heart.

tommy still spent most of his free time with wilbur, always figuring out a way to cheer up the now-teen. 

one day where wilbur had been particularly upset and locked his door, he heard a soft knock. too soft to be techno, and phil just didnt knock. he knew it was tommy. with a quiet sigh, he unlocked the door, letting the ten-year old waddle inside with a toothy grin.

“wil! wil! look what i learned!” he began talking excitedly immediately, grabbing wilburs wrist and leading him downstairs, towards the piano in the living room. he shifted onto the seat, moving to let wilbur sit next to him. carefully, tommy began playing a soft tune, biting his lip and furrowing his brow in concentration. the moment he was done with the short melody, he immediately turned to see wilburs reaction.

his eyes were glossy with tears, a proud expression resting on his face as he practically threw his brother into a hug, “good job, toms, that sounded great, im proud of you.”

despite phil slowly starting to praise tommy, the boy still grinned, a warm fuzzy feeling flooding his body at his brothers praise. he meant more than dad anyway.

tommy ended up spending a few hours at the piano daily, sometimes wilbur would bring his guitar down and the two would play a song together. techno often watched from the doorway with a smile. 

phil was always too busy whenever wilbur was there.

he taught tommy the piano, but every time tommy loudly announced that wilbur would be playing with him, he would have to go and tend to something else in the house.

often, they would play puffys favourite song, wondering what had happened to the girl when they were taken away, where she thought they went.

wilbur was thirteen, four months and eighteen days old when phil had told him the trips had to start again.

he remembered it vividly, he had been sat with tommy and techno on the sofa, half asleep, curled under a blanket. the other two were asleep, tommy half hanging from the armchair he laid upon, techno sat up against the sofa but with his head limply falling onto his shoulder. wilbur was barely awake, forcing himself to stay up and finish the remaining five minutes of the movie. he’d heard phil moving around in the hallway, and he had gotten up, peeking through the doorway. 

phil was wearing a thick coat, and there were around three bags on his back. his head shot up to see wilbur, eyes wide, lip quivering. “hi, wil,” he spoke quietly, knowing his sons were asleep in the other room. he didn’t seem bothered by the kids presence, continuing to rummage through the satchel on his hip.

“i thought- i thought you said the trips would stop?” he’d asked, voice breaking, betraying the calm demeanour he put on.

phil sighed, “i know, but i have to go. if me and techno don’t head out by morning-”

“technos coming too?” wilbur scoffed, arms crossed, “of course he is. he always fucking does,” he spat, striding forwards towards phil, who was now at eye-level, “y’know, i forgave you. after all of that shit you pulled, leaving _me_ to raise tommy, i forgave you, because you always came home after. always acted all nice. but y’know what phil?” he smirked, barely restraining his fury, “i think you’re a bitch.”

phil was silent, taking a deep breath before looking back at wilbur, “wilbur soot, you take that back right now.”  
“no! it’s the truth and you know it. you always were a shit father. do you know my favourite colour? tommys favourite food? no, of course you don’t, but i bet you could name every single thing technos done since birth, because it was always him, always! why? were we not good enough? you didn’t want to face your failures of your sons so you turned to the oldest and ran away with him for fucking years?” wilburs voice was hoarse, but he showed no sign of giving up, angry, burning tears welling up in hs eyes as he screamed.

“wilbur, you know those trips are important-”

“more important than your own sons?” his voice cracked, and he paused to sniffle and angrily scrub at his eyes, breathing heavily. “can you name a single fucking thing either me or tommy did as kids?”

he was silent.

“no, because it was always about techno. ‘ooh poor techno got a papercut, lets ignore your own son bleeding out on the fucking floor’!” wilbur screamed, gesturing to the scar on his face courtesy of techno and his duel.

“that wasn’t technos fault-”

“you’re right. it was yours. if you hadn’t ignored me for days on end because i told you leaving us without food and medicine was neglect, i wouldn’t have tried to fight him. if you hadn’t brought techno inside and coddled him like a baby while i laid on the grass fucking begging for death, i wouldnt have hated you,” wilbur paused, gulping before narrowing his eyes again, “do you know what made me go inside and actually heal the wounds?”  
phil didn’t bother to answer, simply listening to wilburs incessant screaming.

“tommy did. i saw him upstairs through the window, and i got up and actually took care of the wounds. because i was scared of leaving him with you. i didnt want to have him wonder why you barely even looked in his fucking direction. that was the only fucking thing stopping me from letting myself bleed out in that garden. i was eleven, phil!” he raised his voice, it cracking as soon as he did so. “i didnt deserve to have to lie there for hours and wonder why you left me there, what i ever did to disappoint you. why you left me to die-” he was cut off by a sob getting hitched in his throat.

“you wouldn’t have died,” phil rebutted, “there was barely any blood. wilbur, i know you’ve never liked me, im not a dumbass, but dont you dare say i wanted you to die. youre my son, wil, i dont want you hurt!” he yelled back. “i care about you! and tommy!”

wilbur chuckled darkly, “really, _dad_?” he spat the word with venom, “what was tommys first word?” he gave phil a moment, “it was wilby. me. i was his first word, because you and techno had fucked off to the middle of nowhere instead of teaching the fucking two-year-old how to live!”

“wil, this is getting out of hand, please calm down, we can talk this out. theres a therapist in the village, why don’t we go there? book an appointment?” he asked softly, placing a hand on wilburs shoulder.

he shoved it off roughly, “fine,” he spat, “but im not gonna be the one to explain why you miss most of the sessions because you fucked off and ran with the only one of us you consider a son.”

and with that, he turned around and stormed upstairs, towards his room.

in the living room, the other two had been awoken by the screaming contest. tommy had immediately curled into a ball on the floor, leaning against the chair and pressing his hands over his ears. techno had frozen up, unable to do anything other than listen in horror as wilbur opened up to phil. the moment tommy was mentioned, he saw the small boy pause his shaking before clamping his hands over his ears harder.

techno got up, pushing down his guilt and sitting down beside him, wrapping his blanket around the two of them. tommy was still shaking, and his ears were still covered, but at least he was calmer, pushing himself into technos side, head resting on his shoulder. he wrapped an arm around the shaking child, frowning and listening to the fight as it finally subdued. 

phil and techno left the next morning.

techno didn’t get a chance to speak to wilbur before he and phil set off once again.

wilbur was careful around tommy, who had been grumpy ever since phil had left. he’d asked if the boy wanted to play piano, something that often helped, but he said no, and loudly proclaimed, “the piano is fucking shit!” 

that had been the last straw for wilbur, and he brought tommy up to his room, letting the boy get seated on his bed with his headphones in his lap, as comfortable as he could be. wilbur sat at the other end of the bed, eyebrows knitted in concern, “toms, what’s going on with you? you seem a lot...sadder recently,” he noted, voice quiet and laced with worry.

“wil, do-d-do you think the-that-th-” tommy cut himself off, jerking his head to the side and going silent, gulping and sniffling. he kept his face blank, but his lip was still quivering and his grip on his headphones left his knuckles a pure white.

wilbur frowned, “finish your question, tommy,” he encouraged softly.

“wil, do you think the reason dad leaves us here is that im annoying? he always tells me im too loud, is that why he keeps going?” he asked, eyes glossy with tears. 

he felt sick. wilbur genuinely felt like he was going to throw up. instead, he quickly shuffled forwards, pulling his sleeve over his hand and brushing away his tears “tommy, ignore him, please. phil leaves because he wants to go exploring with techno, not because you’re annoying. toms, you _are_ loud, and you _are_ annoying, but guess what? they're my favourite thing about you. can you imagine a world filled with boring old technos?”

tommy let out a wet laugh, sniffling and leaning into wilburs hand.

“it’d be hell, right?” wilbur smiled softly, “be as annoying as you want, and don’t give a shit what other people think of you, because they’re all assholes anyway. be who you want to, if you want to be loud, then fuck them, and fuck their opinion, be as loud as you want to be. and if you wanna annoy the fuck out of people, then go ahead. toms, your loudness and your annoyingness is hilarious, so fuck anyone who disagrees, because you’re the best person i know,” he spoke sincerely, holding his brother close. the words were hard to come up with at the start, but wilbur just shut his eyes and kept speaking, letting them come out as soon as he thought them.

tommy practically dove forward to hug him, wrapping his little arms around wilburs torso and squeezing as tight as he could, his way of saying thank you. he pressed his face into the soft fabric covering wilburs chest, letting the tears that slid down his cheeks soak the material.

wilbur chuckled softly, hugging him back, “yeah, yeah, i know, i love you too. you wanna go make cookies that say ‘fuck you’ and eat them before phil gets back?”

he laughed again at that, pulling back and nodding vigorously.

wilbur was careful with his words for the rest of the week, making sure that every time he called tommy annoying that he made sure it was obvious that he meant it in a nice way. tommy seemed to appreciate it, as his grin got a little brighter every time his big brother said it. 

phil returned only a week later, walking through the door with a grin, a laughing techno by his side. “boys!” he called, seeing the other two peek their heads around the doorframe of the kitchen. “look at how tall technos gotten,” he remarked, now having to look up at his son.

wilbur ignored the feeling of sadness that arose at his words, as he had been taller than phil for months already, but phil never once mentioned it, let alone look proud of him for it.

tommy ran over to techno, bragging about how he stood by technos shoulders at only age nine. 

techno rebutted by using him as an arm rest.

the trips started out short, nothing over three weeks. phil always kept the shelves stocked, and left money at the back of the cupboard just in case. theyd always be back quickly, and they stayed for longer in between trips.

but, just like before, the trips abruptly got longer, jumping from three weeks to four months within a year. 

wilbur was worried, every time the other two left, he would act completely different, not force smiles, let his real emotions show on his face. he knew it was because tommy trusted him enough to act like himself, but it still hurt everytime they heard the car door and seeing tommy immediately force a smile.

they made friends eventually, wilbur finding a pair he fit in perfectly with, bumping it up to a trio. sally and schlatt, their names were, they were both his age, thirteen, and both attended the same school phil had signed him up to. 

sally was sweet, tall and tanned with vibrant, dyed red hair. her laugh was loud and scratchy, and her smiles left crinkles beside her blue eyes, and she dressed as if she had just stepped off of a vampire pirate ship. she wore steampunk styled shirts with tall white collars and frills, tight black corsets and either long swishy skirts or striped trousers, and wilbur felt as if he had a crush, something tommy teased him about relentlessly. 

schlatt was hilarious, his warm, honey coloured curls wrapped around the base of the large golden ram horns on his head, stubble covering his chin. he was either dressed like a president fallen off of the rails or in a blue sweater and jeans, always the same thing, and every time he came over, tommy would sit with him nonstop talking. on one occasion, he had fallen asleep against schlatts shoulder when the group had been watching a movie.

wilbur had remarked to schlatt that it was the fastest tommy ever trusted a stranger, and if schlatt’s eyes glistened with tears and a soft smile crossed his face, it went unmentioned.

well, that was a lie, sally would constantly joke about schlatt being like a second older brother to the boy. she would laugh loudly, throwing her head back and snorting every time she saw schlatts panic when the boy fell asleep against him.

phil never knew about his friends.

so when schlatt and wilbur had been sat on the swings in the park, smoking, (swings which sally later fell off of and into the pond) and phil had walked in their general direction with tommy, (though phil hadn’t seen them) they glanced at eachother, and shit-eating grins crossed their faces. they lept off of the swings and sprinted, laughter echoing in the wind behind them as they ran as fast as their legs could carry them, leaving their stomped out, still smoking cigarettes on the floor.

sally had miscalculated one of phils trips, and had strode up to their front door, knocking and expecting tommy to answer. instead, stood a man about her height, confused. “ah, wrong door, sorry!” she lied quickly, turning and sprinting away.

wilbur had seen her from his windows upstairs, and it eventually became a running joke whenever sally came over that they would answer the door with a confused face and say, “i think you have the wrong door.”

when wilbur turned fourteen, he had snuck out of the window to meet with sally and schlatt, the two of them sat on a bench under a streetlamp outside his house. they had walked over to the nearest bridge, and wilbur handed them both spray paint cans. they wrote the most vulgar shit they could think of before the sirens reached their ears. a torch fell upon them, and all of a sudden the trio was cackling into the air as they legged it, outrunning the old policeman. 

wilbur grabbed their hands and ducked into a nearby forest. they held their breath as they saw the policeman just sprint straight past them, assuming they had followed the path. they broke out into a fit of laughter, wiping tears of happiness from their eyes, sally muttering something about it being the most fun she’d ever had. schlatt couldn’t stop laughing, hunched over with his shoulders shaking.

wilbur looked over at the two of them, and smiled. 

he was happy.

phil mistook his excitement to have friends for being okay, and he thought wilbur was fine, that he was no longer resentful for his abandonment.

so he went on his longest trip ever the moment wilbur turned sixteen. 

seven months.

leaving mere days after sally had told wilbur she was pregnant with his kid.

it was too much.

wilbur had clenched his fists and glared at the door. he trudged up to his room, shoving his belongings in a bag and pulling on a brown trench coat. he grabbed another bag, sneaking into tommys room and packing up his things without waking the small boy. 

he failed.

tommy sat up slightly, wiping the sleep out of his eyes, “w’lbur? what are you doing?” he grumbled, barely awake.

he grinned, “we’re leaving, tommy,” he admitted, eyes sparkling. tommy seemed to jerk awake at that, eyes wide, a smile tugging at his lips.

“really?” 

“really,” he confirmed with a nod. tommy lept out of bed, scrambling to help wilbur pack.

“when are we leaving?” 

“tonight.” 

the two sat in comfortable silence as they packed everything they could. 

wilbur called sally and schlatt over.

the moment they reached the door, wilbur grinned.

“how would you guys feel about running away?”


End file.
